Sheep to the Slaughter
by pookenstein
Summary: Our friend Bishop is up to no good...again. What if he and the KC had met once before? Just another attempt at voice and character, unconnected to my other story Masks.


The girl moves through the underbrush with ease, barely making a sound. Above, the canopy of trees is punctured by slivers of sunlight. All around her, the familiar noises of the land buzz and hum. Her quick eye catches movement between the thick trunks and she crouches instinctively. Ahead, the young man she has been following steps into sight. His dark auburn hair is cut close to his skull. She recognizes him as a local of Redfallows Watch, though she cannot remember his name. She has not seen him in a long time and wonders what he is doing just outside of town. There's something odd in his purposeful movements. He seems to be gathering tinder and arranging it carefully on the ground. Something about his demeanor puzzles her, almost frightens her. _It's the expression on his face_, she thinks. From her hiding place, she can only see the side of his face, but that is enough. Every nerve ending seems to tingle, sensing danger though she sees nothing to indicate any. The curiosity that made her brave was transforming to concern now.

He suddenly stops and cocks his head, listening. She hears another sound, a low rumble that could be distant thunder, or even her growling belly. Then the wind shifts and she smells it. The wolf is behind her and to the right. She can barely make out its dark shape among the tangle of underbrush but she finds its yellow eyes.

The man gives a sharp whistle and the wolf is suddenly sprinting toward her. She has never feared wolves - the few that moved through these lands were shy and kept to the deeper forest – so she stands her ground and faces it, unsure of what to do. She is more afraid of the man than the wolf. It moves quickly, circling to her right and slowing to a cautious trot. Its ears twitch curiously, though it doesn't approach. It gives an uncertain whine and lifts its nose as if testing the air.

She glances behind her but the man is gone. She looks around nervously for him, understanding in some fundamental way that the wolf will not hurt her. She cannot say the same for the human. When she turns back to the wolf, the man is standing in front of her. He grabs her upper arm harshly, his fingers like a vice. "What are you doing following me?"

Her voice is trapped beneath an icy fear. She can only shake her head.

"Tell me!"

Again, she shakes her head, eyes wide. He shoves her to the ground. She looks up at him. He seems incredibly tall to her. Behind and above him, the canopy shivers with some easterly wind. The shuddering leaves make sounds like whispers. He stares at her for what feels like a long time. The wolf comes to his side, pacing restlessly.

"I remember you," he says at last, fingering the dagger on his belt. "You're the little demon girl."

Her eyes narrow at him. "I'm _not_ a demon."

He gives a mocking snort. "Those little horns on your head say otherwise."

"Well, _you're_ a son of a whore!" she spits out. She tries to scramble to her feet but he shoves her back down with a scuffed boot, leaving a dark smear on her ragged and oft-patched jerkin. His hand moves from his dagger to his rub the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. He chuckles. It's a sound without humor. "You still live around here? With that elf?"

When she doesn't answer he unsheathes his dagger and yanks her to her feet, turning her so that her back is to him, and placing his arm around her neck. She struggles violently, squirming and twisting like a worm until he puts the tip of the knife just under her eye. Its serrated edge is huge in her vision. "Now, let's try this again."

"Y-yes, in West Harbour." She can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against the back of her head. He smells of sweat and earth and leaves. His leather bracer feels strangely warm under her chin. After a moment, he shoves her away from him.

"You're lucky I'm in particularly good spirits today, kid." He places the dagger back in its sheath on the strap across his chest. "Get out of here."

She scrambles to her feet, rubbing her bruised throat, walking backward away from him. She stares at him through the tangle of long chestnut hair that half obscures her face. She knows now. She knows what he is doing. "You're going to kill them all, aren't you?"

His head snaps up and his narrowed, yellow-flecked eyes lock onto hers, searching. _Just like the wolf's eyes_. For a moment, she thinks he is going to grab her. Her body tenses, ready for flight. Then he smiles darkly. He places one gloved finger to his lips, a gesture for silence.

"You might not want to be here tomorrow," he tells her.


End file.
